


Always the Ones You Most Expect

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: Prompt: the first words your soulmate will say to you are written on your skin, but Fitz won’t talk to Jemma





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this mostly written out for a while now, but then 6x6 happened and I had to redo some stuff.
> 
> Written and edited on my phone, so if you find a ton of errors, that’s probably why.

For the most part, Jemma likes being a genius. She likes being able to hold a lot of information, likes being able to make connections that most others can’t make, likes moving through curriculum quickly- so quickly, in fact, that she graduates from high school and goes on to university at 14.

She doesn’t have a lot of complaints about it. The only part she regrets is that she’s not great at interacting with her peers. She gets exasperated easily, especially if she can tell that someone isn’t applying themselves in school the way they should. She could easily coast through school if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. She always puts in her best effort, and she expects everyone to do the same.

By the time she gets to the Academy, she’s gotten pretty good at faking unflappable patience. But for whatever reason, she has no patience for Leopold Fitz.

Even though she’s never exchanged a single word with him, she knows he’s the second smartest student at the Academy. So she’s bitterly disappointed when they finally have a class together and it’s obvious that he’s not paying attention at all. Everything he says is just so _wrong._

“Don’t be daft,” she bursts out, twisting in her seat to glare at him. “Did you even do the reading?”

Properly chastised, he doesn’t even bother responding. He just gapes at her, his eyes wide, opening and closing his mouth as though he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to say it. Jemma just shakes her head and turns back to face the front.

It’s not her finest moment, she knows. And maybe if he were lower in ranking, she would feel bad about it. But she’s pretty sure he deserved it, so she can’t bring herself to regret it.

*

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Fitz thinks that he should probably be upset or offended. But there’s a dull roaring in his ears, blocking out all other sounds and all other thoughts beyond that of the words printed on his ribs and the knowledge that his soulmate is disappointed in him.

Fitz knows that just because Jemma is his soulmate, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s hers. Soulmates aren’t always reciprocal.

But Fitz knows there’s a very strong likelihood that his first words to her are printed somewhere on her skin, and he would prefer that his first words to her be something _good_ , especially since he mucked up her first impression of him.

It’s entirely possible that he’s overthinking it. After all, it’s too late to change what’s written on her. And no matter what, she _is_ his soulmate. That’s the important part. He really should just talk to her.

But he doesn’t want to risk her looking disappointed again. He wants her to be happy they’re soulmates. So the first step should probably be improving her opinion of him.

He spends that night writing an e-mail to her, explaining why he messed up in class. When he reads it over, it sounds pathetic, full of lame excuses, like that he was really tired, he’s self-conscious of speaking in front of a room full of people, he overslept that morning and just hadn’t gotten the chance to get his bearings. She’d probably be even more disappointed in him if she read it.

So instead he deletes the email and decides his best strategy simply might be to try to prove her wrong. He’ll show her what his best looks like.

*

Jemma Simmons excels at preparation. She’s scoured course catalogs, picked the brains of upper-classmen and alumni, and met with her advisor so many times that she’s pretty sure Dr Weaver never wants to have another conversation about Jemma’s four-year plan. She knows exactly which courses she wants to take from which professor. She’s created a study schedule that accounts for noise level, amounts of natural sunlight, and availability of caffeine in order to maximize productivity and retention of information. She prides herself on always the first one to arrive at class, with crisp pages in her notebook, extra pens, and a color-coded highlighting system. So it’s a bit of a surprise when Jemma gets to class and finds Fitz already there.

He’s sitting in the back, as far away from her usual seat as possible. He turns at the sound of the door and his blue eyes lock onto hers for a fraction of a second. He immediately flushes and wordlessly drops his head to look back at the notebook on his desk.

For the first time, it occurs to Jemma that she might have embarrassed him. She mentally replays her words to him. It’s very possible her words were not very nice.

And the more she thinks about it, the worse she feels. Really, as the two youngest and brightest students at the Academy, they should be allies. It wouldn’t do to alienate a potential kindred spirit, especially in her first year. So after class, she gathers her belongings and catches up to him as he leaves. She runs around him to plant herself in his path.

“Fitz, right?”

Fitz stares at her, frozen in place.

Jemma takes a deep breath. “I apologize for what I said in class earlier. It was rude of me. Sometimes I speak before I think.”

Fitz doesn’t even blink.

Jemma sighs. “Yes, I probably deserve that. But I promise, that will not happen again. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Fitz nods sharply, then turns and walks away.

Jemma gapes at his back as he rushes down the sidewalk. So she’s not forgiven. That’s fine. And maybe another person might give up, might tell themselves that they tried and that’s the best they can do.

But Jemma has a pathological need to be _liked_ . She doesn’t need everyone to be her friend, but she _would_ like for everyone to have a favorable opinion of her. Like, if she’s walking around campus and someone sees her from a distance, she’d prefer if, in the recognition of her presence, they thought to themselves, “Look, there’s Jemma Simmons, top of her class and all around decent human being!” As opposed to, “Ugh, there goes Jemma Simmons, that _bitch_.”

And she’s used to getting people to like her. After all, research shows that a negative interaction can be counteracted by seven positive interactions. It’s a pretty simple fix. And she already made one friendly overture, so there’s only six more to go.

Unfortunately, Fitz doesn’t seem to appreciate the effort she makes to sit next to him during class. Instead, the more she tries to befriend him, the more he seems to hate her. He obviously still holds a grudge against her initial repudiation because he takes every opportunity possible to contradict her in the most passive-aggressive way possible.

“Although Simmons comes to her conclusion by analogy from familiar lower dimensions, it’s merely an intuitive guide, and we can’t just blindly accept results that are not more rigorously -”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “No one said anything about _blindly_ -”

Dr. Bradley clears her throat uncomfortably. “As fascinating as this is, Fitzsimmons, I fail to see how this relates to lab partner assignments.”

At this point in the class, there’s only enough time before dismissal for Dr. Bradley to quickly explain that lab pairings will be posted on the door on Friday, the day of their first lab.

Jemma doesn’t think much of it - she doesn’t really care who she gets paired with. Even if she’s paired with a complete idiot, she’s more than smart enough to carry the both of them.

So of course, she doesn’t get paired with a complete idiot. She gets paired with Fitz.

*

Being paired with Simmons as lab partners is simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to Fitz.

Obviously, he likes being around her. She is, after all, his soulmate. He even vaguely recognizes their pairing as an opportunity to come clean about the whole soulmate situation.

The thing is, despite his best efforts, he hasn’t actually done or said anything to make her improve her opinion of him. Every time she talks to him, he panics and accidentally blows her off. Whenever he talks in class, it ends up turning into an argument.

Fortunately, Simmons seems to know instinctively when he needs her help and what he needs (which is probably why she’s his soulmate). Which isn’t to say that their partnership is completely effortless.

“Hey Weber,” he calls across to the next lab bench over. “Do you have the sodium carbonate?”

Simmons slides some across the table towards him. “Fitz, its right here. Next time, just check with me first.”

He can’t, of course, so the next time he needs something, he asks Weber, “Can you tell Simmons that I need a clean test tube?”

Weber gives him a look that’s supremely unimpressed. “Are you seven? Do you need some masking tape to divide your lab bench in half?” 

Fitz looks down, his face burning. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but he doesn’t quite know how to stop.

Simmons places several clean test tubes on the rack in front of him, a look of quiet annoyance on her face.

Fitz sighs.

When he gets back to his dorm, he sends Simmons an e-mail.

_Simmons, I was reflecting on our lab today and how we can ensure that things go more smoothly next time. Maybe next week, you can take point on the lab and I can record the results and pass you what you need.”_

Her response is almost instantaneous.

_An easier solution might be for us to actually communicate, but if this arrangement gets you to stop pouting, we can certainly try it._

And it does work fairly well. The arrangement allows for Simmons to do most of the talking,and Fitz is happy to wordlessly comply to her requests. It’s not quite an equal partnership, and Fitz wouldn’t necessarily agree with all of Simmons’s methods and conclusions, but it allows them to get through their labs without feeling as though he’s playing an absurd game of Charades.

For all that the lab is going smoothly, class is a different matter entirely. It’s as though the presence of dangerous chemicals is what keeps Simmons reluctant to confront him in lab because she seems to let out her frustration during every lecture with twice the usual amount of belligerence. After a particularly contentious debate that derails the professor’s lecture for a full 20 minutes, Dr. Bradley asks them to stay after class so that she can deliver a scathing lecture on respectful discourse, threatening to start deducting points if their current dynamic continues.

Fitz walks out of the lecture hall, almost in a daze. He’s never gotten in trouble in school before, save for a few accidental fires here and there. This is the first time he’s been properly chastised for being rude. He can’t even look at Simmons, he’s so embarrassed. He’s so busy scolding himself that he doesn’t even realize that Simmons is right behind him until he feels her hand wrap around his forearm. 

“Fitz, wait.”

Fitz turns to look at her in surprise.

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot. But we can’t keep going on this way. I know I kind of started it, but in my defense, I did try to make amends and you are just, really really _stubborn_ and-” 

He raises an eyebrow, and Jemma stops herself and clears her throat.

“Fair enough,” she mutters. She straightens, squaring her shoulders back. “I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced something similar, but when you’re used to being the smartest in the room, you tend to get a bit competitive and condescending.”

Fits looks at her skeptically.

Jemma deflates. “Fine. A lot condescending. But that’s not fair to you because even though you only have one doctorate, you’re still quite brilliant, and I think we could get on.”

Jemma glances at Fitz and he smiles shyly at her. He nods once.

Jemma’s smile brightens. “Wonderful.” She sticks out her hand. “Truce?”

Fitz takes her hand and shakes it.

“It’s settled then. We’re friends.”

*

Jemma’s not exactly sure what she expected after she declared Fitz and herself to be friends. She guesses a small part of her thought they would stop arguing. She’s had friends before, of course, although all her school friends were always quite a bit older than her. She’s never had a friend who was a true peer, but she always thought friends were supposed to get along more often than not. 

But it was probably ridiculous to think that she and Fitz would stop arguing entirely. It’s not like becoming friends would change their nature; who they are at their core. And at the end of the day, they are both scientists who are competitive and like being right.

It’s oddly exhilarating to argue with Fitz in class, to have someone who can keep up with her quickly-moving mind. Even more exhilarating are the occasions they actually _agree_ and team up to take another classmate down. But there always comes a point during every lecture that Dr. Bradley reminds them of her previous threat, after which they keep their thoughts quiet and switch over to writing notes.

Jemma scribbles in her notebook, _You can tell Walker knows that he has NO idea what he’s talking about. What is his doctorate in again?_ She tilts it towards Fitz.

Fitz glances at it and snorts. He leans over and writes, _How should I know? Do you think I actually socialize with people?_

Jemma has never been one to write notes in class. She’s always been very focused on learning and too worried about getting caught. Besides, she’s never had anyone she wanted to pass notes _to_. Everyone else was so uninteresting compared to the course material.

But everything in this class is practically remedial, and Fitz is so interesting. No matter how much he shares, she always wants to hear more. His mind is wonderfully logical, beautifully inventive and complex.

Somehow, exchanging notes in class becomes the norm. She knows that there’s no way their illicit activities have escaped the attention of Dr. Bradley, but she’s probably just relieved they’ve stopped contradicting her every five minutes. Besides, it’s not like they’re writing anything _bad._ It’s mostly just sarcastic quips and asides, whatever thought crosses their minds that would be inappropriate to share with the entire class. But still, Jemma finds herself eager to interact with Fitz each day. She’s starting to think he’s becoming her closest friend, despite their propensity to argue and lack of interaction outside of class, the latter of which she plans to fix as soon as possible.

Jemma passes her note to Fitz, watching carefully as he unfolds and reads it. He presses his lips together, which she recognizes as his effort to not smile. The last time he smiled in class, the professor had gotten so alarmed that she actually stopped teaching to check on his well-being. He keeps his eyes on the front of the classroom as he surreptitiously scribbles a response back to Jemma.

_Sure, 6:30 works for me. I’ll see you there._

*

Fitz glances at his watch. 6:28. He’s been standing in front of the library for five minutes, and he still can’t bring himself to actually go inside.

When Jemma proposed that they study together at the library, it seemed like a great idea. He accepted without a second thought.

But now he’s kicking himself internally because if they’re studying together, he might actually have to _talk_ to her, and he’s not ready for that yet. He has no idea what to say.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out to look at it.

 **Simmons** : I’m here. Where are you?

Fitz rolls his eyes and walks into the library.

 **Me** : it’s only 6:29. You know I’m not actually late yet, right?

 **Simmons** : well, it’s 6:30 now. So you’re certainly not on time.

He spots her sitting at a table near the reference section, her brown hair falling out of her ponytail and into her face. He slides into the seat across from her. She looks up at him with a grin. Her phone vibrates and she looks down at it again.

 **Me** : I’m definitely on time.

Simmons schools her face into an expression that is probably meant to look stern, but reads more as amused. “On time is late,” she scolds.

 **Me:** pretty sure on time is on time.

If Simmons notices that he’s not actually _talking_ to her, she doesn’t say anything. Luckily for Fitz, Simmons has a naturally gregarious personality, with a tendency to prattle unceasingly, so she probably just thinks that he’s a good listener. He should probably feel more guilty than he does, but it’s not like he’s misrepresenting himself too dramatically.

After all, he really is an excellent listener.

He’s also excellent at studying, though it’s never been terribly necessary before. But with Simmons wanting to spend all her time at the library, and Fitz wanting to spend all his time with Jemma, he probably spends more hours at the library in two months of studying with Jemma than he did during his entire university experience.

Fitz knows it’s dangerous to spend so much time with Simmons without letting her know who she is to him. But there’s so much he wants to share with her, whether it’s an asinine comment someone makes in class, or an idea he had about a new design, or the flaming wreckage in the southeast corridor of the engineering building from an experiment gone awry.

Or his abysmal cup of tea from the campus cafe.

Even though he’s going to see her for lunch in less than an hour, Fitz takes a picture of the little paper tag hanging limply over the lip of his paper cup, adds a filter for the fun of it, and texts it to Simmons. _I tried to order tea. It is literally the absolute worst._

Her response is instantaneous. _Yeah, not a good idea to order tea on campus. I learned that my first week here._

She’s such a know-it-all. He responds with an eye roll emoji. _Of course you did. And you didn’t think to warn me?_

 _It never came up! But if you want decent tea, you have to go off campus._ _Maybe we can go together on Saturday?_

Fitz almost drops his phone. Simmons has never suggested spending time together outside of studying. Studying together is safe. It makes sense. It gives a purpose to their time together.

If they’re not studying together, it means there’s no purpose to their interactions beyond simply being together. It’s a step beyond study buddies into actual, unstipulated friendship. He’s not sure he’s prepared for that.

When they’re in class or in the library, he has an excuse to not talk. Passing notes makes sense. He wants to be friends with her, obviously. He’s just not sure how to navigate a normal conversation with her outside of epistolary conventions.

This would be a good reason to come clean, clearly. And when he accepts her invitation, he really thinks he’s going to, he really is.

Instead, he spends three full days in a blind panic and texts her the morning of with a lame excuse that he’s sick with strep throat.

He feels fairly pathetic, lying in his bed in pajamas, hiding from Simmons and sobbing uncontrollably as he marathons Queer Eye. That’s probably what he needs - for someone to nominate him so Karamo can come and give him a pep talk about not being so chickenshit.

He’s in the middle of blowing his nose when his bedroom door swings open. He lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek as Simmons breezes into his room carrying a cardboard drink carrier in one hand and cradling a large paper bag in her other arm.

Fitz bites down on his tongue to keep from asking her what the hell she’s doing in his room.

Simmons takes one look at him lying in bed, his covers littered with crumpled tissues, and clucks her tongue sympathetically. “Oh, you poor thing. You look awful!”

Fitz scowls.

Simmons sets down the drinks and paper bag on his desk. “I brought you tea - it’s lemon ginger, very good for your throat. And more tissues - good thing, too, it looks like you’re almost out.”

Fitz must have looked like he was about to protest because Simmons thrusts a finger against his lips and hushes him. Fitz suppresses the inane urge to kiss it. “Save your voice. Poor thing, your throat must be inflamed.”

He’s pretty sure the universe is punishing him for lying. Why else would it send Simmons here to coddle him with the same pitying demeanor most people save for when they’re rescuing mangy stray kittens in dark alleyways in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Fitz has never been a social butterfly. He’s always been terrible at hiding his discomfort during interactions with peers, especially outside of a school setting. It’s ten times worse when he’s around a girl he fancies. 

Obviously, he loves spending time with Simmons, and they have the kind of easy, natural camaraderie that transcends words.

But at the same time, there’s only so much he can communicate without actually _talking_. It’s only a matter of time until he slips, and he’s just tempting fate by continuing to hide what he knows.

Fitz knows that the longer he goes without talking to Jemma, the angrier she’s going to be if or when she finds out she knew all this time that she is his soulmate. But he still doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

So he just nudges over on the bed, making room for Simmons to sit next to him, feeling like a coward as they watch a show about people finding the courage to live their best lives.

*

The end of the semester is always a stressful time, especially right before winter break. Not only are there finals to contend with, but there’s also the added stress of figuring out holiday plans, buying gifts, and making travel arrangements. It’s a lot to keep track of.

And although Jemma has always prioritized school before all else, she knows that she is massively over-preparing for her finals. It’s just that she’ll take any excuse to spend time at the library with Fitz.

Not _because_ of Fitz. Obviously, the library is the main draw. Fitz is just a bonus.

Or so she keeps telling herself.

Jemma’s phone vibrates in her pocket. She glances at it, and when she sees who it’s from, immediately looks back up at Fitz, who’s very deliberately not looking at her.

She opens the message and snorts when she sees a gif of a brain melting. Another message pops up of a giant No Face scarfing down food in the bathhouse in Spirited Away. 

Jemma rolls her eyes and texts back, _you ready to take a break for dinner?_

Fitz responds immediately. _I’m really into studying right now, but if you need to take a break, I guess I could eat._

Jemma scowls at Fitz, who’s grinning at her, clearly pleased with himself. She kicks him under the table before closing her books and standing up. “I’m famished,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Fitz scrambles to his feet and shoves his books into his backpack. He slings his arm around Jemma’s neck, ruffling her hair with his other hand. Jemma gives him a light shove. “You’re such a pain.”

Fitz doesn’t respond, just tightens his arm around her for a second, a small gesture of affection, before practically dragging her out of the library.

The thing is, Jemma knows that Fitz likes spending time with her. She knows that left to his own devices, he probably wouldn’t study nearly as much as he does, and that he only does it because of her. And over the course of the semester, he’s become a lot more easy and open with his affection. But she can’t help but feel like there’s this whole part of himself that he’s closing off from her. It’s like he’s still on guard, like he thinks he needs to protect himself from her.

For whatever reason, Fitz seems to be more at ease around larger groups of people than around just Jemma. He seems eager to join their classmates at the Boiler Room when she invites him, and though he sticks by her side the whole night, he spends all his time talking to other people instead of her. The more he drinks, the more he loosens up, and Jemma watches in amazement as he laughs and exchanges jokes with Sally and Kevin, who they keep calling “Ultimate Kevin” for some reason.

“It’s purely an American thing,” Fitz argues. “We would never ruin ice cream like that. I don’t know another country where frozen yogurt is as popular.”

“Counterpoint: haggis,” Kevin shoots back. “Not to mention the weather. Face it, you’re from the Bad Place.”

“Florida is basically a water-logged Sodom and Gomorrah,” Fitz argues.

“Well, I’m from a farm in the middle of nowhere,” Sally volunteers. “Which, as we all know, is very solidly Medium Place. But Milton is from Canada, which I would argue is a contender for a Good Place.”

Fitz and Kevin exchange a look. 

“Ugh, Milton,” Fitz mutters.

“Ugh, Canada,” Kevin rolls his eyes. 

“Canada isn’t a Good Place. Canada is fake Good Place. You just know they’re hiding something under that polite, happy facade.”

“I have to confess, I don’t understand these references at all,” Jemma admits.

They all stare at her. It’s definitely an overreaction on their part. Like Jemma has time to watch sitcoms. She’s busy becoming the youngest Academy graduate in history.

Fitz looks at the others. “You’ll have to excuse us. I have to force Jemma back to my room to make her watch it immediately.”

“Is that right?” Jemma asks in amusement. “Are Sally and Kevin coming too?”

Sally snorts. “I’m trying to hook up with Adams from Ops tonight. I like you Simmons, but we’re not at the stage of friendship where I’ll make that level of sacrifice for you.”

Fitz looks to Kevin, who shrugs. “I’m trying to hook up with Adams, too. I have a bet going with Weber.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “Bets over people are gross. That’s definitely going to end well.”

Kevin wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Please don’t.”

Jemma follows Fitz back to his room, where he pulls out all the stops for her, piling all the pillows against the end of his bed for them to lean on and pulling out all the junk food he has hidden in his room for a veritable feast.

It’s a fun night, and she likes the show and all, but Jemma can’t help but itch whenever the topic of soulmates comes up. (Not to mention that all the characters had to _die_ to find their soulmates, which is truly morbid.)

Most days, Jemma doesn’t think about her soul mark at all. It’s always covered by her clothes in public. She never sees it in the mirror. She gives it about as much importance as her freckles. It’s a part of her, but bears no significance in her life in the grand scheme of things.

She honestly believes that. She has no time for romance or soulmates, especially one as whiny as hers seems.

And the more time she spends with Fitz, the less she thinks a soulmate is even necessary at all. She scoots closer to him on the bed and leans her head on his shoulder. She has everything she needs.

*

When the new semester starts, Fitz initially worries that he won’t see Simmons as much.

They texted constantly while she was in Sheffield visiting her parents and he was in Glasgow spending Christmas with his mum, so it’s not like he thinks they’re not friends anymore. But maybe she’ll make new friends in her new courses. Maybe she’ll want to study with other people.

He finds he didn’t have to worry. If she is studying with other people, she’s still making lots of time to study with him. Regardless, he’s eager to jump on every opportunity possible to spend time with her.

Left to his own devices, Fitz is not a terribly social creature. He tends to feel overwhelmed by the prospect of making small talk. But when Jemma invites him to the Boiler Room with some of her new classmates, it seems like a good way to spend time with her. He can talk to her using other people as a buffer. And he knows Weber will be there. It seems safer, somehow.

He should’ve known better.

“Any plans for Valentines Day?”

Fitz can feel his face turning red as Simmons rolls her eyes, no doubt more skeptical of the value of a holiday as commercialized as Valentines Day than she is about the misinterpretation of their relationship.

“C’mon Weber,” Chang laughs. “Simmons clearly is keeping Fitz deep in the friend zone.”

Fitz’s fingernails dig into his palms. “That’s not a real thing,” he blurts out, surprising himself - and everyone around him -with how vehement he sounds. He forces his voice to lower to a normal volume. “The friend zone doesn’t exist.”

“If you’re friends, then you’re in the friend zone,” Chang argues.

“Call it whatever you want, but it’s not because Simmons put me there.” Fitz can feel Simmons staring at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on Chang. “It’s not like being friends with her is a hardship. Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with her?”

“Because you clearly want -”

“I think I’m the expert on what I want, thank you.” Fitz shakes his head, looking down at the table. “Look, being friends with Simmons isn’t something she’s doing _to_ me. I’m her friend because I want to be. Simmons doesn’t owe me anything just because I’m nice to her. If I do a favor for her or help her with something, it’s because I _want_ to. Its because that’s what friends do, not because I’m trying to earn her love. She’s not obligated to feel anything for me.”

Chang holds his hands up as if surrendering. “No one said anything about being obligated. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Fitz knows it’s probably time to drop it, but he can’t help it. He’s just such a douche. “But isn’t that what you’re implying? When you say that Simmons is _keeping_ me in the friend zone, like it’s something negative, like I’m there against my will?”

“Jesus, you’re sensitive.”

Fitz isn’t quite in control of his body when he shoves himself away from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as his chair slides back, and rises to his feet. He looks around at the wide eyes staring at him. “Whatever,” he mutters, and walks to the exit, ignoring the bodies bumping into him as he makes his way out.

Outside, the sky is dark and the air is cool. He walks quickly, knowing that Simmons will probably follow him, and knowing just as well that he doesn't want to talk to her about it. The night seems like a turning point somehow; like he talked himself to the edge of a cliff and now he’s teetering and as soon as he faces Jemma, he’s going to fall right off.

“Fitz!”

He’s already opening the door to his dormitory when he hears her, and he keeps going. He knows it’s a bit rude, but she knows the key code to enter the building. She can still follow him if she wants.

He makes it to the bedroom and leaves the door open, knowing that Simmons is behind him. He rather not have to get up to open the door for her. He flops onto his back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. 

He can feel the moment she steps into the room. Her presence tends to disorient his world. It’s a problem.

Her voice is thin and breathy when she asks, “What was that?”

Fitz just shrugs, not sure how to answer.

She walks towards him and flops down next to him on the bed. “Great. That was probably the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and _now_ you’re quiet.”

The thing is, he meant it when he said that she’s not obligated to feel anything for him. Not because they’re friends and not because they’re soulmates. The last thing he wants to do is make her think he expects anything from her.

But at the same time, he can’t take it anymore. He can’t keep hiding it from her. He never meant to keep her in the dark for this long - it’s just that he wanted it to be _right_. He wanted to find the right words.

But maybe he doesn't need words. 

He couldn’t find a way to tell her, but maybe he can show her.

His breathing quickens and he jolts up.

“Fitz?” Simmons pushes herself up to a sitting position as well and places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair and stands up, turning to face her. Simmons stares at him, her surprise and concern written across her face.

Before he can lose his nerve, he pulls the hem of his button-up out of the waistband of his pants and lifts it over his torso.

Jemma’s eyebrows shoot up, and he might find the flabbergasted look on her face to be almost comical if his heart weren’t in his throat and his stomach weren’t in knots. “Fitz! What are you - _oh_.” Her panic relaxes into mild curiosity as she leans forward a bit. “Is that your soulmark?”

He can tell the exact moment she realizes its significance and her curiosity slides back into panic. Her breath catches and her shoulders tense and it’s like someone has pressed pause in the scene unfolding in his room.

Then, as if she’s realized that she needs to actually _breath_ , she lets out a slow exhale and breathes out the words like a gentle breeze.

“We’re _soulmates_.”


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Jemma realizes that some of these dots do not connect.

Wouldn’t she know if Fitz were her soulmate? From a young age, she’d been inundated with stories about soulmates from movies and tv shows and advertisements, about that magical moment when you discover the person you’re meant to spend your life with. Society has trained her to be alert for the words written on her. She would like to think that she would’ve known as soon as he said...

Did he say it? She knows he’s written similar words before, but she doesn’t think it was the first thing he’d ever written. Besides, soulmarks are supposed to be first spoken words. And Fitz’s first spoken words to her were...

Come to think of it, she doesn’t remember Fitz’s first words. She thinks back on their first classes together, back when they were arguing all the time. Was it something about dielectric polarization? No, it was -

And she definitely doesn’t understand how Fitz can be on his phone right now, as if he hasn’t just dropped a major bombshell on her. How can he just completely disregard-

Jemma’s phone vibrates. She ignores it. Just because Fitz is being rude, doesn’t mean that she’s going to -

Fitz points emphatically at her pocket and shakes his phone in front of her. Oh.

She looks at her phone. It’s a text from Fitz: _I know what you’re probably thinking, and I haven’t actually SAID anything to you yet._

Jemma looks up at him, her eyebrows crinkled. “That’s impossible. We talk all the time.”

Another text. _I talk to other people in front of you. I write notes and text you. But I’ve never actually talked TO you._

Jemma stares at her phone, trying to gather her thoughts. There are so many questions competing to get out, she can’t untangle them enough to ask one that will make sense. She finally just settles for, “Why?”

Fitz sighs. He sits down next to her on the bed and looks down at his phone, biting his lip. Finally, he types, _I don’t know how to answer that._

“Try.”

It’s maddening, the way she has to watch him silently contemplate his words, his thumbs tapping at his phone screen intermittently. He keeps pausing in consideration, and she ends up shifting closer to him and leaning over his shoulder to look at his screen.

He explains that he felt shitty about lying to her, how he doesn’t want to hide it from her anymore. He assures her that he doesn’t actually expect anything from her, and that even if they are soulmates, nothing would need to change unless she wanted it to.

He explains that he didn’t tell her earlier because he was worried she’d be disappointed by the prospect of being stuck with him. He shares his many worries - that he might not be her soulmate, that he might say the wrong thing, that she’ll find her own soulmate and they won’t be friends anymore.

She, in turn, explains that she would have never felt disappointed at being soulmates with him, even at the very beginning, when they argued all the time. She values their friendship more than anything, and that there’s no way he can say the wrong thing. Either he’s her soulmate or he isn’t.

She leaves out that she wouldn’t mind moving beyond friendship because she doesn’t see how that could possibly happen without him actually talking to her. 

They stay up until three in the morning, discussing it. It’s a long conversation, made longer by the fact that Fitz has to write everything out instead of just talking. The conversation is far from over, but once Jemma reaches the point that she loses all coherency, she stretches out on his bed and informs him that she’s sleeping over. 

Fitz looks simultaneously thrilled and terrified. He nods, then tosses a pillow and blanket on the floor.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I don’t have cooties, you know. We can share the bed.”

Fitz just stands and stares, still unsure. Jemma reaches over the side of the bed and pulls the pillow and blanket back onto the mattress. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fitz. We’ve done this before.”

It’s true, but it’s also not. They’ve fallen asleep in the same bed before while cramming for tests or watching Netflix, but it’s always been an accident. It’s never been intentional, with the emotional exhaustion that comes from being vulnerable with each other, after hours of trying to parse out what they are to each other.

And maybe that’s what Fitz is trying to say, when he looks at her with that all-too familiar expression of exasperation. His jaw ticks, as though he’s fighting back words.

She wishes he wouldn’t.

In the end though, he climbs into bed next to her without further resistance. Jemma turns onto her side, facing him.

“Goodnight, Fitz.”

He doesn’t say anything back.

*

Once Jemma finds out the truth, communicating becomes easier, despite Fitz still not knowing how to actually talk to her. He no longer has to worry about managing their interactions so that he has an excuse to write to her or text her or talk to a third party in front of her in a way that seems natural and reasonable.

Now, if he writes notes to her or texts her, even in situations where talking would be the most natural way to communicate, he knows that she understands why. It makes their time in the lab that much easier and productive. He’s able to experiment more, to give more input, to actually collaborate instead of just assisting. It’s more of a true partnership.

Sometimes they’ll spend hours sitting side by side on one of their beds, texting each other about their days until the conversation devolves into just sending each other the weirdest, dirtiest gifs they can find.

They’re the millennials that baby boomers are talking about when they sit around at bridge night, complaining about kids these days and their damn phones.

And he’s thankful that their friendship is still intact. He really is. And he’s glad that the revelation of his soulmark didn’t upset her to the point that she broke off their friendship.

But despite her best efforts to hide it, he does get the sense that she is upset. Or, at the very least, vaguely resentful. 

There isn’t even anything super specific or concrete he can point to as evidence. But he and Simmons are usually so attuned to each other’s every movement that Jemma would know instinctively when he wanted her attention. But now it’s like she writes everything off as background noise, completely unaware of when he needs her help. The only way he can get her to notice him is to make a completely unambiguous bid for her attention, like waving his hand centimeters from her face. 

And sometimes she assumes a carefully blank look on her face when he tries to communicate with her, as though she doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say, even though it’s never been a problem before. It’s like she’s being deliberately obtuse. Like that time when he tapped a finger on his watch, clearly suggesting they take a study break, and she responded by furrowing her brow and asking in rapid succession, “Are we out of time? Do you have to leave? Is your watch broken? Do you need to know the time? Is there something on my wrist?” And the thing is, Jemma is bad at lying and being anything other than sincere, so he knows she was only pretending to not understand him.

Fitz knows that if he tried to explain this to anyone else, he would sound like a crazy person. Like he’s overreacting. Like he’s forcing unrealistic expectations on Jemma, as though he’s expecting her to be a literal mind reader.

And he normally wouldn’t expect that of her or think anything was unusual if it hadn’t been the way their friendship has operated for the past few months, up until that whole soulmate revelation. He knows her, and he knows what she’s like. Something is definitely off.

But then again, something has been off the entire time they’ve known each other because he was the one keeping secrets from her. He is fully aware that he only had himself to blame.

Now if he could only figure out how to fix it.

*

Sometimes, Jemma feels like telling Fitz that she doesn’t care whether or not he’s her soulmate. Because the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks it doesn’t really matter if his first words to her match the ones written on her skin. He’s already everything she wants from a soulmate.

Because what she wants is an ally. A companion. Someone who may disagree with her, but is on her side, always. Someone who makes her better, while also accepting her for who she is. Someone who will let her take care of him, and take care of her in return. Someone who knows her, who recognizes her faults without holding them against her. Someone who respects her, who values her for more than her brains or her looks or the sum of her parts. In short, a best friend.

And Fitz is already that person to her. Sometimes, she worries that she’s too clingy, always following him around, texting him at all hours of the day. But he seeks her out just as much, always seems pleased to see her and reluctant to part.

So she doesn’t feel so guilty about stacking the deck a bit, so to speak. There are so many ways he could respond. It’s not cheating if he’s not guaranteed to respond the way she wants him to.

“I brought biscuits,” Jemma announces when she walks into his room.

Fitz’s face lights up, and Jemma suppresses the urge to snicker.

She drops her pile of books on his bed and climbs onto the covers, across from where he’s sitting at the head of the bed. She sets her Tupperware container of cookies between them.

To her surprise, Fitz wants to get started on studying before opening the container. She’s a bit jumpy with anticipation, and pretends to do problem sets while tamping down the urge to force-feed him a biscuit. A part of her worries that Fitz will be able to tell that something is up, but he is apparently a very trusting person.

Eventually, her patience pays off, and she very deliberately does not look at him when he takes his first bite. Fitz makes a noise vaguely reminiscent of a cat hacking up a hairball and blindly reaches over to tap her shoulder.

Jemma looks up at him. He holds up the cookie and points at it with his other hand. “You want another one?” 

He shakes his head and points at it more emphatically.

“You can have as many as you want,” she assures him. “They’re a lot healthier than regular chocolate chip cookies. These are vegan, gluten-free, cacao nib cookies.”

It is very difficult to not laugh at the expression on his face. Honestly, though, she was hoping for a stronger reaction.

Jemma suspects the problem is that Fitz is too composed. He is so busy overthinking, over-worrying, about what’s written on Jemma, about the possibility that he’s not her soulmate, that he can’t hear her when she keeps trying to express that it doesn’t matter to her. She’s already his; that’s more than enough for her. Even if she weren’t his, she wouldn’t care. She’d choose him, even then.

So the only solution is to break his composure. Get his emotion to take over so that he doesn’t think, just does. He’s so focused on fate and determinism, but he doesn’t realize that whatever he decides to say, what he chooses, that choosing it will make it so. He can’t mess it up.

Jemma sighs to herself, lamenting that she’ll have to resort to torturing him to get him to realize what she already knows. She never considered herself to be an advocate of utilitarianism, but it definitely has its time and place. 

Still, though, she needs to at least try to reason with him.

They’re packing up their study materials when Jemma suggests, “I could just show it to you.” 

Fitz tilts his head as he squints at her, clearly lost. It’s no wonder that he was able to go so long without saying a word. His face is so expressive, she can read him like a book. The tiniest quiver of his pupils can speak volumes.

“My soulmark,” Jemma clarifies. “I can show it to you. That way you’ll know what to say.”

Fitz just sends her a withering glare. He picks up his phone and texts, _You know that’s not how it works._

Jemma swallows. “It could.”

Fitz shakes his head as he types. _Either it’s meant to be or it isn’t._

“I don’t believe that,” Jemma says, stubborn. “Maybe the future is fixed, but that doesn’t mean we just wait for it to happen to us. It’s because we make the choices we’re meant to make. And maybe I’m meant to choose you.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows.

Jemma takes a deep breath, then steps forward to take his hands in hers. “I just want to hear your voice. I want to talk to you.”

Fitz gives her a teasing smile. Jemma rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know I talk to you all the time, but I want you to talk back. I want us to talk to each other.”

Fitz extricates one hand so he can text, _if I’m not your soulmate, that means there’s someone better for you out there._

Jemma shrugs. “Maybe. But they’re not here right now. And I can’t imagine that I’ll have with them what I have with you.”

Fitz bows his head and looks down the hand that still intertwined with hers. She can see him fighting with himself, mulling it over. Finally, he sighs deeply, squeezes her hand twice, then lets go, turning away from her.

Which is totally fine. Torture it is.

*

Fitz wouldn’t necessarily call himself a neat freak, but he is someone who likes his space to be organized and clean. Sometimes, when he’s deep in a project, his room does explode into piles of metal and wires, but even then, it’s an organized mess. He knows exactly where to find everything.

And Jemma, for the most part, is the same way. Even though she has a higher tolerance for things that are disgusting and enjoys delving into guts and muck, she’s always very cautious about cross-contamination. She’s very meticulous about cleaning her work station and following proper lab protocol.

So when Jemma starts to leave her experiments and dissections around where Fitz can find them, he knows she’s doing it on purpose. They get into several heated, silent arguments about having consideration for others when sharing a lab, and about whether it’s really appropriate for Simmons to use the lab for experiments pertaining to her own “personal edification” rather than those related to current coursework. 

The last straw, however, is when Fitz discovers her “present” in the mini fridge. She’s not in the lab at the time, so he takes a picture and texts it to her, immediately followed by _Wtf????_

He has to wait five minutes before he hears back from her. _You’re not supposed to be in the lab for another hour._

Her reply is neither enlightening nor repentant, and he fumes as he waits and comes to the realization that she is not offering any further response for the time being.

Jemma arrives at the lab ten minutes later and doesn’t comment on it as she shrugs on her lab coat and sets up for their lab. Fitz crosses his arms over his chest and hopes that the death glare he’s directing at her is loud enough to get her attention. When Jemma finally looks at him and notices his frustration, she assumes a carefully blank expression and asks, with unconvincing innocence, “What’s wrong?”

Fitz glares at her and pulls out his phone, furrowing his brow as his thumbs tap at the screen.

**Fitz** : _is this your way of torturing me? Like, you told me you don’t hold it against me, but I feel like you’re trying to get revenge for hiding the whole soulmate thing from you._

Jemma sniffs, haughty. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

**Fitz** : _you left its liver next to my lunch!!_

Jemma just shrugs, uncaring.

Fitz’s temper flares and he opens his mouth, ready to tell Jemma just what he thinks about her lack of consideration for others. But then he thinks of those words written on her, and his mouth clamps shut. He fists his hands at his sides, his shoulders hunched near his ears, and inhales deeply through his nose. He stalks into the supply closet and slams the door shut.

Once he’s inside, he lets out a stream of curses, directing them at the containers of mineral samples as though they are personally responsible for his being soulmates with a beautiful, infuriating , Machiavellian genius. He slumps against the door and groans rather pathetically.

There’s a part of him, deep down where he can push aside his stubbornness and resentment, that gets it. He can see where she’s coming from. He’s ridiculous. He knows this.

It’s not like he hasn’t been trying to figure out what to say to her since the day they met. Every time they have a conversation, he tries to get up the nerve to just say something, anything. It’s not like he hasn’t had a million opportunities.

And sometimes, he wonders what might happen if he tells her that he loves her. That he’s in love with her. That even if they weren’t soulmates, he would still think that she is the smartest, kindest, most beautiful person he knows. 

But then he thinks about how unspeakably awkward and embarrassing it would be if those words weren’t written on her or if she didn’t feel the same way. Or what might happen if the words weren’t written on her and she did feel the same way, and things didn’t work out between them. He knows that Jemma said that she’s choosing him, but it’s not really much of a choice if he’s her only option. She doesn’t know all her choices. And how can she make a choice like that if she doesn’t have all the information, if all the variables have yet to be defined?

Once Fitz is sure he’s regained his composure, he sheepishly emerges from the supply closet. It’s possible he was being a tad dramatic.

But then he sees various carcasses lying about in various states of decomposition and his heart rate skyrockets again. He lets cabinet doors slam and bottles thump on tables as he sets about disinfecting everything as loudly as possible.

At first, Jemma ignores him, choosing to keep her face glued to her microscope instead. But after Fitz’s twentieth loud sigh, she lets out a frustrated sigh of her own and turns to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is this about your ‘pristine lab’ again?” Fitz, noticing that he has her full attention, looks very pointedly at the carcass on the table, then back to Jemma.

“Oh, not the stupid cat again,” Jemma scoffs. “First of all, need I remind you that this is our lab, not your lab. And furthermore, sometimes science is messy, because life is messy! I’m sorry if we’re not all made up of sterile wires and gears that you can carry around in your pocket and tinker with whenever you want, but in life sciences, in order to find our what’s wrong, we need to muck around in blood and guts, and just because you have the delicate constitution of candy floss, doesn’t mean that-“

Fitz flees back to the supply closet.

*

The thing about being best friends and probably soulmates with Fitz is that even when they’re fighting, they’re still completely in sync. So Jemma can’t blame Sally for getting a little weirded out when they simultaneously sit on either side of her at the bar in the Boiler Room.

Sally looks back and forth between them a few times, no doubt waiting for one of them to talk. When neither of them offer any words, she takes a long draw from her drink, then sighs, “You know I’m not a couples therapist, right?”

Jemma ignores her, flagging down the bartender. 

Sally looks down at her drink for several long moments, clearly fighting an internal battle of epic proportions. “Okay, fine. I’ll bite,” she relents. “What happened?”

What happened was this:

Jemma had taken a few weeks off from purposefully provoking Fitz, using that time to plot and plan while getting Fitz to let his guard down. At first, Fitz had been wary and distrustful at her attempts to mend bridges. When Jemma brought a Tupperware container full of biscuits to his dorm room for their Sunday afternoon study session, he just set it down on his desk without even opening it. “They’re real chocolate chips this time,” Jemma assured him, squirming out of her backpack straps. He just shrugged and sat down on the bed, so she added, “and super gluten-y. So much gluten.” It wasn’t until halfway through their physics problem set, after Jemma had already eaten five biscuits, that Fitz finally took his first hesitant bite, his eyes immediately lighting up with glee.

It’s not that Fitz let his guard down after that, as much as he forgot to keep it up. 

It was late afternoon on a Tuesday when Jemma set her plan in motion. They were studying on the top floor of the library, at a table near the huge floor-to-ceiling window on the south wall. The last vestiges of sunlight streaked the sky with lavender and pale gold, casting a soft glow across their books and their skin. 

Jemma yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She pulled out the elastic out of her hair, shaking out her ponytail and combing her fingers through the strands. “Have you started thinking about next year?” 

Fitz shot her an unimpressed look, grabbing his planner and circling “May” with his felt tip pen.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Next school year, obviously. We have to decide soon on living arrangements. Were you planning to live on campus again?”

Fitz just shrugged.

Jemma tapped her pencil against her spiral notebook. “It’s just that...I was thinking about moving off campus. And I was wondering if you maybe wanted to share an apartment with me?”

Fitz gaped at her. Jemma worried for a moment that he was having an absence seizure, but then he blinked and grinned at her.

They had a lot of fun, looking at rental listings and texting back and forth about what they wanted. They planned to look at all the prospective places over the weekend, with Jemma calling to schedule appointments and creating a detailed itinerary.

At first, Jemma’s plan was to fawn over apartments that she knew that Fitz would hate and take him to visit places that were either way out of their price range or way too small. She was especially eager to see his reaction to the one-bedroom flat she had picked out, and couldn’t wait to see how flustered he would get when she suggested sharing a room.

But then they went to the Boiler Room on Friday night. Honestly, nothing about that night was out of the ordinary. They drank some beers and hung out with some classmates, but for some reason, Jemma felt annoyed the whole night.

And a large part of it might have had to do with the way Fitz got so chatty after a couple drinks. Not with Jemma, of course, but with everyone else. Even though Fitz was sitting next to her all night, he was loose and affectionate with Sally, trading teasing insults and sarcastic quips with her, and Jemma couldn’t help but resent that she couldn’t interact with him in the same way. He’s probably her soulmate and definitely her best friend, so it’s not fair that she can’t have this version of Fitz. She wants all versions of Fitz. She doesn’t see why she can’t get to have him.

And logically, she knows that it doesn’t work like that. She doesn’t get to _have_ him because he’s a person, not a toy. But how can she believe that she’s his best friend when he won’t even talk to her?

Which explains her current mood. She was so upset all of last night that it had carried over into this morning, and she didn’t have the energy or desire to follow through with her plan, instead remaining stubbornly quiet, sullen,and uncooperative throughout every apartment tour.

By the time Fitz and Jemma visited the fourth empty apartment, they were both tired and impatient and hangry.

Fitz, to his credit, did attempt to talk to Jemma several times. She noticed him on his phone, texting constantly throughout the day, she assumes to her. Every time he caught her eye, he’d gesture animatedly as though he were playing a ridiculous game of charades. It’s not that Jemma was ignoring him because she wanted to frustrate him, but she can’t say she wasn’t feeling a little petty either.

Fitz clears his throat. “Sally, can you please tell Jemma to check her phone.”

Sally rolls her eyes. “Oh, great. We’re doing this again.”

Jemma glares at Fitz. “Sally, please tell Fitz that my phone is out of battery.”

“You know, I usually advise people not to hook up with friends because it just jeopardizes the relationship, but I think the two of you are the exception.” Sally props her elbows on the bar and buried her face in her hands. “Like, you’ll probably get along better once you bang. The sexual tension has got to be driving you insane,” she says, her voice muffled.

She’s not wrong. Though, of course, it’s not just the sexual tension that’s driving her insane. It’s Fitz’s stubbornness and his refusal to just communicate with her. She’s pretty sure they could’ve been snogging these past couple months if he weren’t so insistent on being so cautious.

“What - Sally - we don’t - what?” Fitz sputters. “What I mean is...we’re not like that.”

Jemma leans around Sally to glare at Fitz. “I stand by my original assessment. You really are daft.”

*

Usually, Fitz looks forward to the days when he and Simmons reserve the lab for their work. It’s an opportunity for them to collaborate without distractions or interruptions.

Or course, it doesn’t quite work when his lab partner _is_ the distraction.

And it’s not as though he’s the only one who’s distracted. He notices that Jemma keeps losing focus, keeps pausing to mutter to herself.

The muttering is a problem. Fitz doesn’t mind that Jemma thinks out loud. He’s used to it. It’s part of what allows them to work so well together - the way they share every thought, bouncing ideas off of one another. But whereas Jemma used to think at full volume, allowing Fitz access to her thought process, now she’s shutting him out.

Still, from watching her work and overhearing a few of her whispered ideas, Fitz gets a general sense of the direction she’s going in. He scribbles an idea on a fresh page of his notebook, rips it out, and slides it to Jemma. 

Jemma picks up the note with her forceps and, without looking at it, feeds it to the Bunsen burner.

Fitz has never been adept at the social intricacies associated with friendship, but even he can tell that Jemma is pissed at him.

He tears out another piece of paper. _Are you mad at me?_

Without taking her eyes off her own notes, Jemma reaches to slide the note towards herself, then crumples it into a ball and tosses it over her shoulder, which is NOT proper lab protocol.

And the thing is, even though Jemma is pretending that she is too focused on her work to be bothered to talk to him, Fitz can tell that her mind is elsewhere. When Fitz notices that she’s about to pour way too much hydrogen chloride into her beaker, he gestures frantically for her to wait, but she ignores him. 

The contents of the beaker explode. They both turn their faces away instinctively, but the solution still lands on their backs, shoulders, and chests.

Jemma turns to Fitz, wide-eyed. “Are you-“

Logically, Fitz knows she didn’t intentionally cause a dangerous lab accident. He knows that he could have prevented it if he had just talked to her. But for weeks now, Jemma has been alternating between extreme passive-aggression and ignoring him and all his frustration and resentment bubble over all at once. “You are being the absolute worst!” Fitz bursts out. 

Months of waiting and planning and deliberating, and these are his first words to her. He not sure which would be worse - if it turns out that he’s not her soulmate, or if he is and she’s lived every day with words on her skin telling her she’s the worst.

Something flickers in Jemma’s eyes for a brief moment, but then she turns and walks briskly to the back of the room. “Emergency shower,” she snaps, peeling off her lab coat as she rushes across the room.

Fitz follows after her immediately, shrugging off his lab coat as well. Jemma pulls on the lever, and ice cold water pelts both of them. Fitz fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, stripping down to his undershirt. When he looksup, he sees that Jemma has already removed her sweater, and his mouth goes dry as he watches her pull her blouse over her head, her back to him.

Fitz swears that his heart actually, literally stops beating. It’s there, written across her back, right under the band of her bra. _You are being the absolute worst._

Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “No. Nono no nono. Simmons, this is terrible.”

“Yeah, you really need to rinse off immediately,” Jemma says, agreeing but misunderstanding.

The icy water drips into his eyes, and he wipes it away with his arm. “Simmons, you don’t understand. My soul mark is you calling me daft and your soul mark is me calling you the worst! We’re clearly no good for each other.”

Jemma keeps her head ducked under the water, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Fitz points at her. “See? That, right there! We’re toxic together!”

Jemma turns to face him, nearly bumping her nose into his extended finger. She leans back and swats his hand out of her face. “We are not toxic,” she denies fiercely. “You are my best friend in the world! Look, I know this is new to you, but I’ve had time to get used to it. I’ve always known what my soulmate’s first words were going to be - that doesn’t -“

Jemma falters, recognizing her mistake as soon as the words leave her mouth. Fitz’s eyes widen, and all of Jemma’s strange behavior start to make sense. “You knew -you planned this!” Fitz realizes. “The cookies and the liver and the silent treatment -you tried to orchestrate fate!”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic?”

“You were trying to drive me crazy on purpose!” Fitz accuses. “You-

Jemma doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Well, you were driving me crazy too! How do you think it feels to have your soulmate refuse to talk to you for months -“ 

“-trying to get me to - now hold on, we didn’t actually know for certain that I was your-“

“-not to mention that you knew for ages that I was your -“

“You don’t just get to choose who your soulmate is!”

“I don’t care!” Jemma yells. “I’d choose you every time because I love you!”

Fitz’s voice is just as vehement. “Yeah, well I love you too!” 

“Then why don’t you want to be soulmates with me?”

Fitz almost feels like laughing, it’s so absurd. He didn’t think he’d been hiding how much he wants to be her soulmate, how much he wants to spend every day by her side. “I don’t -“ Fitz huffs in frustration, then lurches into Jemma’s space, his hands grabbing at her waist and his mouth covering hers. The momentum sends Jemma backwards, and she slips on the wet floor. They both lose their balance, letting go of each other to throw an arm out to the side, each planting a hand on the wall to steady themselves. 

His lips press hard and desperate against hers, and she barely has a chance to press back against him before he’s stepping away with a gasp. His hands land on his hips, a silent so there. His wide eyes stare at hers, like he’s the one who’s been taken by surprise. He takes another deep breath, and his hands drop to his sides.

Jemma steps into his space and lifts a hand to his face, tracing his jawline. When she kisses him, it’s gentler, more tender. It’s as though she’s telling him it doesn’t have to be a battle. They can be happy together. They’re soulmates. The universe wants them to be together.

Jemma’s fingertips continue to wander over his face when she pulls away. “I liked the third one,” she tells him, breathless. The water tapers off, leaving them standing soaking wet across from each other.

Fitz shakes his head a little, both to clear his head and shake the water from his face. “What?”

“The third one. With the breakfast nook and the big bay window.”

“Oh. The apartments.” Fitz pauses to consider, mentally reviewing the places they visited. He frowns. “But that one only had one bedroom.”

Fitz isn’t sure that he’s ever seen Jemma blush before, and he certainly never expected her to blush because of him.

She tilts her chin up, a silent challenge. “Is that a problem?”

Fitz runs his hand down her arm until he’s holding her hand, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. He can feel the blood thrumming in her veins beneath the tissue-thin skin. “Don’t you think that’s moving, um, a bit fast?”

Jemma looks at him incredulously. “Fitz, we’ve been moving slow. Like, at a glacial pace.” 

Fitz winces. “I know. I mean...fuck, Jemma, I know I wasn’t being fair to you. I just kept overthinking everything- I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And I ended up messing it up anyways.”

Jemma’s expression softens. “You didn’t mess it up. Our words match.”

“You shouldn’t have those words written on you, Jemma. You don’t deserve that. You - you deserve words that are sweet or romantic, because you’re not the worst. You’re the best.”

Jemma‘s smile is reassuring.. “And I know you think that, Fitz. Just like you know that I think you’re brilliant, not daft. Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes. We’re not defined by our worst moments.”

Fitz looks down at their hands. “I’m sorry.”

Jemma turns her hand over to intertwine their fingers. “I’m sorry too. And you have to know, Fitz...I don’t want words that are sweet or romantic.” She brings a hand to his face, pushing his chin up with the heel of her hand so that he’ll meet her gaze. “I just want you.” She leans into him, tilting her face to the side, her lips closing in to his.

Fitz turns his head to the side and Jemma’s lips miss their target, sliding against his cheek instead. Jemma pulls back and looks at him in confusion.

“I want you too, Jemma.”

Jemma blinks. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“And I want this between us to work. And maybe that’s why…”Fitz lets out a long sigh. “Maybe we should take a step back. Start over. Get to know each other without any secrets between us.”

Jemma’s face falls. “Is that really what you want?”

“No,” Fitz says immediately, a wry smile on his face. “But it’s what is probably best.”

Jemma studies him for a moment before taking a step back and letting her hands fall to her side. She squares her shoulders back and sticks out her arm in offering of a handshake. “I’m Jemma Simmons. Biochem.”

Fitz smiles and shakes her hand. “Fitz. Engineering.” The corners of his lips turn up slightly into a self-deprecating smile. “I’m your soulmate.”

*

For all that Jemma pretends that she is patient, that she can wait, she knows that it’s only a matter of time before she breaks. She doesn’t sleep that night, lies in bed and replays their kiss over and over again.

She knows why Fitz isn’t ready to move in together, or to be together at all. He’s worried that moving fast will make the shine on their relationship fade faster. He’s worried that they’ll discover faults that rub the other person the wrong way, that there’s a dealbreaker lurking beneath the surface. 

The thing is, she doesn’t think that starting over will make a difference. She already knows everything about him. Knows that he can’t eat a meal without spilling something on himself and getting a stain on his shirt. Knows that he can’t meet new people without sticking his foot in his mouth and then inevitably ruminates on those moments long after every other person involved has moved on. Knows that he’s stubborn, that he thinks he’s always right even when he’s not, thinks expiration dates are just a suggestion.

The only secret that was ever between them is that they belong together. 

And she does try her best to follow the plan. She’s very conscious about respecting his boundaries, making sure that all interactions are firmly in platonic territory. They sit next to each other in class, get lunch together in the cafeteria, study together in the library, all activities they’ve always done together. But they’ve also always been loose with their physical affection. They’ve always sat closer to each other than they needed to, leaned into each other when tired, gave each other playful smacks on shoulders and shoves on the arm. That part isn’t new. It’s just that now it all seems more flirtatious than it used to.

Not that she’s ruled out flirting on purpose.

Fitz averts his eyes as Jemma slices into a skull of a lab cadaver. “So, uh, seen any good films?”

Jemma presses her lips tightly together to suppress her grin. “Why? Are you asking me to one?”

Fitz sputters a bit before recovering. “Um. Yeah, we could. Friends see movies together.”

“Soulmates also see movies together,” Jemma points out.

The silence that follows is deafening. Jemma looks at him expectantly. It is, after all, his turn to talk.

“Um, so would you rather go to the cinema or stay in and watch Netflix?” Fitz finally asks.

Jemma can’t resist. “Netflix and chill could be fun.”

Fitz snorts. “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

Jemma looks back down at her cadaver and shrugs as casually as she can, considering she’s elbow deep in blood and viscera. “That, or it means exactly what I think it means.”

Fitz stares at her. “Um. Right.”

“But we should probably finish our lab report before we decide on a movie,” Jemma offers, taking pity on him.

“Yeah. School comes first.” Fitz’s face twists as though the words taste sour coming out of his mouth.

“Wow. We really are soulmates,” Jemma teases him.

Fitz crosses his arms and looks down at his shoes. “You’re clearly a bad influence on me.”

Jemma smiles. “Clearly,” she echoes.

After their lab, they return to Fitz’s room to finish writing their lab report, sitting side by side on the floor, their backs leaning against the side of Fitz’s bed. Fitz pulls up Lost In Space on Netflix and lets it play on mute while they work. 

Jemma can’t help but glance at him every 30 seconds and smiles when she catches him looking at her too. She doesn’t know how she manages to concentrate when all she wants to do is crawl into his lap and be close to him. The prospect of spending time with Fitz without any homework in the way is enough to get her to grind through her part of the report in record time. 

When she’s done with her part, Jemma climbs into Fitz’s bed and lies down across mattress, sprawling behind him so she can read over his shoulder. She leans forward, pressing her cheek against his. “Hurry up.”

“Stop distracting me,” Fitz grumbles.

“I’m bored,” Jemma announces.

“You’re a brat.”

Jemma rolls onto her back and turns on her phone to scroll through Buzzfeed. She’s halfway through a quiz about whether she’s more of a right Twix or a left Twix when she decides that she’s not getting enough attention and sticks her big toe in Fitz’s ear. 

Fitz yelps and jerks away. “Why are you the worst?”

Jemma collapses into herself in a fit of giggles.

Fitz snaps his laptop shut and glares at her. “What is it that you want?” He’s using that grumpy and impatient voice that earned him his reputation as being difficult to work with, and it only makes Jemma laugh harder. “What? To cuddle?”

He climbs onto the bed, crawling over her, and lies on his side between Jemma and the wall. “Is this what you wanted?” He folds his arm over her ribs and pulls her roughly into his side. “Happy now?”

Jemma nods, letting out a happy noise of agreement.

Fitz reaches over her to turn off the lamp by his bedside table. “Fine. But if we’re going to cuddle, I’m going to fall asleep,” he tells her warningly, as though it’s some sort of huge punishment for her.

“Okay!” Jemma agrees cheerfully.

“No laughing. This is serious business!” Despite his words, the exaggerated gruffness of his voice tells her that he’s also amused.

Jemma snuggles deeper into his side. “The most serious,” she agrees.

She’s not sure when she falls asleep, but when she opens her eyes next, the room is still dark, but she can no longer feel his warm breath fluttering against the back of her neck. She turns around to find that Fitz has rolled over in his sleep, his back to her. She drapes her arm over his torso, pressing herself against his back so that she’s the big spoon, and closes her eyes again.

When she opens her eyes again, it’s early morning, weak sunlight leaking through the curtains into the room. They’ve drifted away from each other again, both lying on their backs. She rolls to her side to face him and closes her eyes.

She feels the mattress shift beneath her as Fitz rolls over. She opens her eyes again to find him looking at her. Her first instinct is to close her eyes and turn away, embarrassed to have been caught looking at him, but then his eyes lock on hers and she finds herself unable to move.

He speaks first. “You were right.”

Normally, Fitz saying that provokes a bout of gloating, but this time she’s just confused. “About what?”

“I _am_ daft.”

Jemma frowns. “You know I didn’t mean that, Fitz. Why would you say that?”

“I’ve been holding us back. It’s stupid.” His eyes leave hers, watching his hand as it travels up her arm, his palm warm against her skin. There’s nothing sensual about it, just a comforting steadiness that she’s come to associate with her best friend. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you.”

Jemma’s heart rate skyrockets. She takes in a shaky breath. “I did wonder about that.”

Fitz sighs. “I guess I’m worried about being a bad soulmate, or what would happen if you ever leave. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

Jemma can’t help but feel offended. “I wouldn’t- how could you think I would ever -“

“I know,” Fitz interrupts before she can get too worked up. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

Jemma stares at him. “Then what are you saying?”

Fitz slides his hand back down her arm until he reaches her hand. He slips fingers between hers and takes a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is...I also liked the breakfast nook.”

It takes a few moments for his meaning to sink in, but when it does, Jemma’s grin threatens to overtake her face. “Really?”

Fitz smiles back at her, and Jemma lurches forward, kissing him hard.

Fitz’s hand hovers carefully over her waist, and though the kiss started out clumsy and sweet, it quickly turns hot and desperate as Jemma climbs on top of Fitz, sending him rolling onto his back and giving him the courage to move his hands restlessly over her body.

She knows neither of them have done this before, and that there’s probably a middle ground between Fitz’s plan to court her like a Victorian gentleman and her current efforts to fornicate like bunnies, but...well. Jemma can’t say she’s ever been a particularly patient person.

*

“I would give anything to not be here right now.”

Jemma plops down on a charcoal gray futon, bouncing a bit on it as she tests the cushions. “Don’t be a baby. It’s not that bad.” For all his complaints, she knows Fitz wants a say in their new furniture. Especially the bed.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s creepy that there’s only one exit at the end of an interminable maze?” Fitz asks.

“There’s also Swedish meatballs,” Jemma reminds him.

“It’s a labyrinth. They’re trying to trap us.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

“You are being the worst.” It’s his automatic reply whenever she calls him daft. Maybe it shouldn’t work for them, but they know that the space between each word is filled with an unspoken “I love you” and “I choose you” and “we are meant to be together.”

Jemma stands and takes his hand. “Come on. We still need a table for our breakfast nook.”

Fitz drags his feet a bit. “This is never going to end.”

Jemma winds her arm around his. “Yeah. Isn’t it great?”

Fitz opens his mouth to say something snarky in response, but then he sees the way she’s looking at him, amused and exasperated and fond all at once, and he realizes that she’s not talking about IKEA at all. She’s referring to the two sentences that no one else understands the way they do, an endless exchange just for them.

And so he pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head. “Absolutely.”


End file.
